


Nostalgia

by Jaybee65



Category: Wicked - Maguire
Genre: Gen, Wicked - Freeform, bookverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-06
Updated: 2006-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-02 19:00:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaybee65/pseuds/Jaybee65
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Glinda visits Shiz alone, years after being a student.  Can she recapture her memories?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nostalgia

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the FemGenFicathon.

The dedication ceremony for the Sir Chuffrey and Lady Glinda Museum of Traditional Gillikinese Arts had been a trifle dull. Not that Glinda hadn't put on a lovely spectacle for the assembled crowd, complete with glowing orbs that swirled in a pattern choreographed to complement the tinkling strokes of the harpists. At the climax, Glinda touched her wand to the giant scarlet ribbon wrapped around the gilded doorhandles of the grand entryway; it untied itself with a flourish, throwing open the doors to the public.

Everyone gasped and cheered as usual, but the adulation failed to give her that flushed feeling of triumph that she'd grown accustomed to. And afterwards, when she mingled with the artists and dignitaries at the reception, not even their outrageous flattery -- or the multiple glasses of wine -- managed to make her even the slightest bit giddy. Instead, she felt a bone-wearying ennui that grew and grew until its weight threatened to make her collapse into an aristocratic coma onto the cold marble floor.

Could she actually be growing _bored_ of giving away Sir Chuffrey's money? What a dreadful thought. What else could she possibly do to fill her time? And what else would even be suitable for a person of her stature in the community?

Perhaps she simply needed fresh air. She'd said all the polite things to all the important people already, so she excused herself as gracefully as possible and informed her retinue that she would be going for a walk. It was the hottest time of day of one of the hottest days of the year, but it wasn't their place to question her whims, so they followed at a respectful distance behind as she fled the confines of the museum -- or came as close to fleeing as one could in a seven-layered taffeta skirt that stretched the entire width of the sidewalk -- and exited into the late afternoon haze of Shiz.

She had no destination in mind. When she found herself standing at Crage Hall's doorstep, she had no purpose when she entered. When she bade her assistants to wait in the lobby while she mounted the stairs, she had no particular aim. And when she reached the doorway to her old room, she wasn't entirely sure why she was there.

She knocked. There was no answer. She knew she should leave, but instead she pushed the door gently open. The room was empty, and she walked in. Of course, it hadn't been her room for more time than she cared to think about, and as she inspected the belongings of the current occupants, she wondered just what she had hoped to accomplish. If indeed she'd been thinking at all, and not mindlessly following the dictates of some long-dormant spell or repressed dream.

"It's not polite to sneak around someone else's room like that," said a rasping voice behind her.

Startled, she swung around. A pigeon sat on the ledge of the open window, its head tilted to one side as it watched her with an unblinking, perfectly-round eye. No, that would be a Pigeon, she reminded herself. How droll! She hadn't conversed with an Animal in aeons. Except that this one seemed to be regarding her with distinct disapproval.

"I'm not sneaking," she said huffily. "I'm simply visiting. For the sake of nostalgia. This used to be _my_ room, you see."

"I see," he answered, but he sounded unimpressed.

"I wasn't aware that there were any Animals still residing in Shiz," she ventured, not sure of the etiquette of raising such a topic, but too curious to refrain from asking.

"Of course there are! Pigeons. Rats. Anyone who can blend into the local animal population. Not that the living conditions are very hospitable these days."

"How...er...unfortunate." She noticed that his feathers were dirty and rather bedraggled-looking, and that one foot was badly mangled.

"It could be worse. At least I'm left alone, and I can spend my time eavesdropping on class lectures. When they leave the windows open, that is. Otherwise, it's scrounging for trash in the streets and scrambling out of the way of oncoming carriages."

There was an awkward silence. As skilled as she was at frivolous conversation and fatuous speeches, Glinda had no response to this.

Mercifully, the Pigeon changed the subject. "So," he said, "you used to have this room, eh?"

"Yes," she answered, grateful that the conversation had returned to something safe -- and more importantly, to something that involved her. "Back in my student days, and oh what marvelous fun that was, I shared it with my roomie--"

"Elphaba of Munchkinland," the Pigeon finished.

"How did you know that?" Glinda asked, disconcerted.

"It's no secret who _you_ are, not in that outfit. And we Pigeons know all the gossip about everyone. After all, we're underfoot everywhere, and who pays attention to us? There isn't a thing that happens in all of Oz that we don't see or at least hear about."

She was pondering the implications of this last statement with no small amount of discomfort when he spoke again.

"She was trying to put wings on monkeys, your friend. I can't imagine why, when there are perfectly good Birds to do all the flying. Seems like doing things the hard way, if you ask me."

Glinda smiled. "She liked doing things the hard way. Even the simplest things, she'd find a way to complicate."

"And you?"

"And me, what?"

"Do you like doing things the hard way?"

_Not if I can help it._ While she knew that was in fact the most sensible position to take, the thought somehow shamed her. So instead of answering, she said frostily, "That's a very impertinent question coming from a complete stranger."

"And that's quite a criticism coming from someone who's trespassing." He ruffled his feathers. "Enjoy your nostalgia."

With that, he flew off.

Relieved to be alone again, she looked around the room once more. What had it looked like back then? She couldn't remember. She closed her eyes and muttered an incantation, and when she opened her eyes again, there it was: her room. _Their_ room, as if nothing had changed. There were her clothes hanging in the closet and Elphie's books strewn across her unmade bed. She tried to pick one of them up, but her hand passed right through it. It wasn't real. It was just a shimmering shadow -- cold, empty, inanimate.

She couldn't step into the past after all. She couldn't wipe away the accumulation of time and erase unpleasant or inconvenient events. She couldn't achieve immortality, no matter how many spells she cast or even how many plaques with her name she installed all across the city. And she certainly couldn't bring back the dead, no matter what kind of sorceress she was.

Creating an illusion of the past and hiding within it was doing things the easy way. Actually facing up to one's losses would be the hard way. Which way did she prefer?

She ended the spell abruptly and the room returned to normal.

What a silly thing to have done, she scolded herself. Why was she wandering around here like a lost child when she had endless amounts of charity to distribute and the undying gratitude of the public to receive?

As she turned to leave, she spotted herself in a mirror and stopped. Gorgeous as usual. She smiled to herself. The past was the past. But some things never changed.


End file.
